


The Switch

by toooldtobeonhere



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward Dates, Cunnilingus, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Jealous Sherlock, John's chair, Mild Smut, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-14 09:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4558815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toooldtobeonhere/pseuds/toooldtobeonhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wrecks Molly’s date. Tries to make up for it. Bit fluffy. Eventual smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The date

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments on my last story! Boosted my confidence so here’s number 2! It happens after my other one (“The one with the boobies”) so it’s in the same universe…Molly is staying at Baker Street (post S3) due to the Moriarty threat. 
> 
> My last one was influenced by a Friend’s episode. This one came to me while watching Seinfeld! (Should tell you how old I am, lol). That’s where I got the title from. Anyway…enjoy!
> 
> Rated T due to a couple of swear words.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Sherlock or Seinfeld so don’t sue me!

 “Shit! Shit! Shit!” mumbled Molly as she ran up the stairs of Baker Street.

Sherlock, lying on the sofa, tipped his head back to see the pathologist, run past, and dump her coat and bag onto john’s old chair and rush into the bathroom. He heard the shower turn on a second later. He sighed, his interest piqued, he got up and walked into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” he yelled over the noise of the shower.

He heard her muffled reply “I’m so late! Bloody tube strike!”

“Late for what?” he tried to say nonchalantly as he put the kettle on.

“I’m supposed to be going out tonight and I should have been home an hour ago!”

Sherlock furrowed his brow “going out where?” he shouted, not realising that the shower had been shut off and Molly stood in the other side of the table – eyes wide.

“Sorry” he said much quieter. “wh…where are you going?” he stuttered. She stood in a white towel, clutching the clothes she’d had on. Her hair was twisted up into a messy bun.

“Out” she said petulantly as she swished past him up to her room.

* * *

 

Since she’d moved in with Sherlock (for her own safety according to him and Mycroft) six weeks ago the two of them (three if you counted Toby – much to Sherlock’s chagrin) had gotten on surprisingly well. She’d taken John’s old room and apart from one weird encounter[1] a couple of weeks ago which was swiftly forgotten - read: days of pointedly avoided eye contact - they’d fallen into an easy partnership. She would get up, shower, and dress before he even woke up. But she’d always make enough tea for two, leaving the pot (with its cosy on) on the kitchen table alongside a cup with one sugar in it.

He was awake though. He’d listen to her in the bathroom, watching her shadow pass unseen behind the glass door in his bathroom. He’d listen to her pottering about in the kitchen and when he’d hear the click of the front door. He’d rise, throw on his dressing gown (or a sheet). Invariably, there would be the tea pot and cup – and if he was really lucky; a note. The first time Molly had left one, he’d almost missed it. He’d poured his tea and lifted it to take it to his chair when a folded square of paper inscribed with an ‘S’, under the cup had caught his eye.

“ _Morning Sherlock_!” he heard her voice in his head “ _Think we need milk? Want me to pick some up? Gimme a text later if you do. M xxx_ ”

Sherlock smiled involuntarily as he sipped his tea and slipped the note into his dressing gown pocket and taking out his phone

“Yes to milk – S” he typed quickly and pressed send. He paused, cup resting on his lip “Thanks – S” he added and pressed send again.

She’d subsequently left numerous notes under his cup. He often wondered why she didn’t just text him, but he didn’t dare say anything in case she stopped.

When Molly got home (when had she started to think of it as ‘home’ she wondered?), he’d usually be out. She didn’t mind though. It didn’t feel nearly as lonely here as her little flat, even if it was just her and Toby. She’d make dinner and often eat it sitting in Sherlock’s chair. Toby seemed to have commandeered John’s one. If she was lucky he’d come back before she’d head up to bed and she’d ask about his day – even if he’d spent most of it under her feet in the lab. A couple of times she’d fallen asleep watching TV and had awoke under a blanket. Realising that it must’ve been Sherlock, made her slightly giddy.

When Sherlock got home, the flat was usually quiet. The only indication that Molly was even home was her dishes in the sink. A couple of times he’d opened the fridge to forage something to eat and he’d been met with a small yellow plastic bag. Its black lettering so familiar, he didn’t even need to see them all to know it read “CLINICAL WASTE”.  She’d brought him a gift from work. Once it was a bag of fingers and the other was an enlarged spleen.

A few nights he’d returned, he could hear the TV. Hoping that she’d be up so he could talk over his current case, he was met with the view of Molly curled up in a ball in his chair. He took the blanket from the back of John’s chair and draped it over her gently. She looked so small in his chair. Switching the TV off, he crept off to his room. Lying in bed he’d listen intently to hear her stir and climb the stairs to bed. Then he’d close his eyes and visit her room in his mind palace.  

He’d accidently seen her naked a few weeks ago and although he’d deleted the information it remained burned into his mind like the blue splotches that persist when a camera flash goes off; burned into your retina. He recalled the image now. Imaging her going about her bedtime routine.

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you mean ‘out’?” he said following her up the stairs.

“Out, out” she called through her closed door. “You know…with other people – of the opposite sex”.

“You didn’t ok this with me” he said. The moment the words were out his mouth he regretted it.

Molly wrenched open her door, a pretty floral dress hung loosely about her body, clearly unzipped at the back. “Excuse me?” she scowled.

“I mean..meant…that it’s still not safe. Mycroft needs to vet everybody”

“I’ve been cooped up in this flat for the last six weeks. I know Mycroft’s goons watch me when I leave, so what difference does it make if I go out to dinner?! They can watch us there”. Her tone was irritable and defiant.

“Also...” she added “are you two any closer to catching Moriarty? I’ve not even heard his name mentioned in weeks!” She wriggled, trying to catch the zip of her dress “I’d like to go home sometime you know!”

Sherlock looked on, unable to form a reply; everything she said was right.

Molly sighed and turned to face the other way “at least be useful and zip me up” she said pulling her hair over one shoulder out of the way.

Swallowing, Sherlock reached for the zip “can I ask who you’re going out with?” he said casually as he aimed for the small of her back.

“One of Meena’s friends. She set us up” she replied, all the anger having left her voice “he works in her office. David I think his name is”

Sherlock’s fingers seemed huge as he griped the tiny metal pull. He drew it up slowly, letting his knuckles graze the band of her bra - black, lacy, one of her good ones (he’d seen many pieces of underwear hanging around the flat, drying, over the last few weeks so he knew it was a good one).  Just then the doorbell went and they both looked anxiously down the stairs.

“Please can you get that? Stall him, I still need to put my make up on!” she said pushing him out of the door way. “And be nice!!” she added disappearing back into her room.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hi. Is Molly in?” asked the man at the door. Tall (ish), dark and conventionally good looking - Sherlock hated him already.

“Yeah! Sure come on up!” Sherlock replied, his voice suddenly friendly and lilting.

As he led him into the living room, he added with a predatory smile, “Moll’s will just be a minute, she’s just getting ready”

The man smiled uncertainly and stuck out his hand “I’m..I’m David” he stuttered.  “Meena didn’t mention Molly had a roommate”.

Sherlock shook it firmly and added “Oh I’m not her roommate, I’m her husband”.

David’s face fell.

“Oh don’t worry, we have a very ‘open’ relationship” Sherlock replied, throwing a wink in for good measure.

David stared dumfounded at Sherlock.

“Meena didn’t mention this did she?” added Sherlock, feigning shock.

“Em, eh, no” faltered David.

“I’m so sorry, it’s the first time she’s set us up on a blind date” answered a sheepish Sherlock.

“Us?” retorted David.

“Yeah, I think the technical name is “ménage à trois” smiled Sherlock letting the words sink in “but if you’re not into that, I can always just watch” Sherlock allowed his eyes to travel hungrily up and down the man’s body.

For one horrifying second, Sherlock worried that he’d deduced him wrong and he’s be into the idea, but his petrified expression reassured him.

Just then Molly stepped into the living room. Dressed in a navy floral dress and nude heels, she looked beautiful.  Her hair was down.  She really had been looking forward to this date. Sherlock suddenly felt sick. Was this what remorse felt like?  God, he pitied regular people.

“Hi, I’m Molly” she said cheerfully. David looked white as a sheet. “Hope Sherlock’s being nice?” she laughed nervously. Sherlock smiled.

“Yea..yeah” David stumbled on the words. Looking between the them, he quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone “Actually” he added, “I...I’ve just got a text from work, I forgot to e-mail some stuff for a meeting tomorrow” he said edging his way to the door.

“Em…oh...ok” replied Molly apprehensively.

“Maybe another time!” he added backing out the door. “I’ll let myself out!” he called, already half way down the stairs.

“Yeah maybe” whispered Molly to no one in particular. As she heard the door close, she turned to Sherlock her eyes ablaze, “What did you do!?”

“What?! Nothing!” he said defensively. He braced himself for her wrath, but what came was even worse. Her face fell and the look of fury turned into one of sadness.  She turned and slumped down heavily onto the sofa.

Sherlock strode to the door as if to leave, but instead lifted his coat from the hook on the back of it.

“Where are you going?” Molly looked up.

“Dinner” replied Sherlock “coming?”

“What?” she said; puzzled.

“You wanted to go out, let’s go out”

“Yeah I meant on a date though...with David!” she said getting to her feet and approaching him.

Sherlock stuck his hand out confidently “Hi, I’m David” he said with a smile.

Molly grinned, knowing this was his way of apologising. She took his hand and shook it “Hi, I’m Molly”.

“So what do you fancy to eat?” Sherlock asked as they walked down the stairs?

“Not fish and chips!” Molly said teasingly.

“Fine” groaned Sherlock.

 

 

 

 

 

[1] See “The one with the Boobies” story 


	2. Angelo's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly go on a "date"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of you asked me to continue this - how could i refuse?! 
> 
> NB: The rating for the next chapter might go up *wink*
> 
> Disclaimer: Again I don't own anything except my obvious mistakes - sorry

 

It was a surprisingly warm evening once they stepped outside. Sherlock stepped up to the curb and raised his arm and, as if by magic, a cab appeared.

_“How does he do it?!”_ thought Molly. Sherlock opened the door and motioned for her to go in first. Molly giggled at his faux-gallantry. Once in, Sherlock leaned forward and gave an address to the driver. They spent the rest short ride in silence. Molly worried that they’d taken the joke too far and nervousness set in.

“Angelo’s. Really?” she said looking up at the familiar façade.

“What’s wrong with Angelo’s?” said Sherlock defensively.

“Nothing I guess” she said following him in.

Sherlock got his usual table by the window, and Angelo made a comment about his ‘date’ when he brought a candle for the table. If Molly didn’t know better, she’d say that Sherlock blushed, but it was so fleeting that she told herself not to be so silly.

After a minute in silence looking at their respective menus, Molly blurted out

“We don’t have to do this”.

“Do what?” replied Sherlock, not looking up from his menu.

“This ‘date’” Molly gesticulated a back-and-forth motion with her hands.

“You’re not hungry?” Sherlock said looking up, furrowing his brow, his almost childlike naivety was endearing.

Molly smiled “No I am, but, you don’t need to do this”.

“I’m hungry and I’d like to have dinner with a friend” replied Sherlock as he looked back down at the menu in his hands.

The word ‘friend’ caused Molly to feel contradictory emotion; joy and sorrow in equal measure, but she smiled warmly.

* * *

 

Two hours later, Molly leaned back in her chair and placed her hands on her stomach.

“God, I shouldn’t have worn spanx!” she sighed.

“What?” frowned Sherlock, gulping down the last of his wine.

“They’re pants that...” Molly started “you know what, never mind” she sniggered.

If she was honest, this had been one of the best ‘dates’ she’d had in years. Without the anxiety of a real date she felt free to order what she wanted including garlic bread (no need to worry about a goodnight kiss) and a slice of chocolate cake so big the waitress would likely lose her job for cutting it. Not to mention the three bottles of red wine they’d polished off.

Sherlock looked on nicely sated. He’d not eaten for a few days so took the opportunity to indulge himself. As the evening passed, conversation flowed…along with the wine. He realised this was probably the longest he’d spent in Molly’s company. He always knew she was astute – you don’t get to be London’s best pathologist by being a dolt – but she was well versed in a number of subjects but was quietly confident in her intelligence.

He was also secretly impressed with how well she could hold her drink! Granted, he had drank on an empty stomach, but his body’s larger water content and mass should have protected him somewhat. _Lightweight!_ said an internal voice that sounded mockingly like John’s. He shook his head and returned to listening to her story. The wine had caused her to be more talkative and brought a flush to her cheeks (and neck and chest he observed). It also stained her lips a berry colour that made Sherlock’s mouth dry if he thought about them too long. He was also secretly captivated on how she ate; she seemed to take almost erotic delight in her food. She licked her fingers sensually from the greasy garlic bread. She puckered her lips as she sucked her spaghetti. When she took her first forkful of chocolate cake, she closed her eyes and let out a little groan. Sherlock hoped the heaviness he felt in his lower abdomen was down to the food or wine, but he had a suspicion it wasn’t. Molly’s room in his mind palace gained an extensive extension that night.

“Want to walk home?” she asked once they were outside.

“OK” he said. He was surprised when he felt her arm hook through his. They both looked at down at it. Molly thought she’d overstepped the mark when he shrugged and slurred “I don’t mind”.

Molly laughed and led the way.

It too him longer than usual to walk back to Baker Street. He tried to mentally blame Molly and her silly heels, but if he was honest, he wanted to extend the evening as long as possible. The wine probably didn’t help though.

When they reached the familiar black door, Molly automatically reached into her bag and took out her key. Just as she was about to turn the lock she abruptly turned. Sherlock was stood too close to her and with the added height of the doorstep and her heels they were the same height, they’re noses almost bushed together.

“Well thank you for a lovely evening” she said stepping back so her back was pressed against the cold wood. Sherlock smiled as a few silent beats passed between them.

“You do know I don’t invite men up on the 1st date don’t you?” said Molly cheekily.

Sherlock was confused for a second, but the gleam in her eyes told him that she was joking. He decided to play along.

“How about a quick coffee? I promise not to try and have sex with you” he drawled in the most suggestive voice he could muster.

Molly smiled warmly and placed her had on his chest.

“Damn” she giggled, turning back and pushing open the door gesturing for him to follow her.

 

To be continued….


	3. Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the "date"....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating now an M due to some uses of the f-word
> 
> Sorry in advance for stopping it where i have...you'll see ;)

 

“Ahhhh” Molly moaned as she stood by the fireplace and pulled her heels off as Sherlock hung up his coat. “Put the kettle on” she added as she ducked into the bathroom.

Sherlock walked to the kitchen. It was more of a stagger, but he would have sworn blind he strode purposefully and in a straight line. That was until he caught his hip on the table.

“Fuck!” he blurted out, rubbing the offending area.

“Fuck what?” Molly answered as she re-entered the kitchen.

“Nothing” replied Sherlock quickly standing back up “you were quick?”

“You keeping track of my micturition rate now are you?” she said smiling before pulling her hand out from behind her back. In it was a scrunched scrap of black fabric.

“My knickers were cutting the circulation off!” she added cheekily before tossing them back into the bathroom.

“Sherlock?...Sherlock!?” said Molly.

“Sorry? What?” he replied, shaking his head as if to dislodge something.

“You were just blinking, you kinda phased out there for a second” she said with a genuinely concerned tone.

“No, I’m ok” he said turning around to face the kettle. “Tea?” he added brightly.

“Oohh yes please” she said making her way into the living room. Toby was in his usual spot – John’s old chair. She ran her hand over him gently and made her way to the second closest seat – Sherlock’s.

Sherlock was slightly too drunk to do the whole teapot thing, so mugs it was. He carried them in a couple of minutes later and was met by the sight of Molly folded up in his chair with her bare legs (he daren’t think about what else was bare) tucked neatly under her. As he approached she started to unfurl herself as if to get up and give him his seat back.

“No, no” he protested as he handed her a mug and she settled back down. He turned to the opposite chair where Toby just stared back haughtily. Molly giggled at the stand-off.

“Off you” said Sherlock as he (gently) pushed Toby to the floor. The cat stood for a moment and walked off arrogantly.

“He’s gonna piss in your slippers now you know” said Molly sipping her tea.

Sherlock smiled and crocked an eyebrow at her joke – at least he hoped it was a joke.

They sipped their tea in companionable silence for a few moments.

“Thanks for a lovely date” Molly said breaking the silence.

“Thank you for a date” Sherlock replied.

“What?” Molly said lowering her mug slightly.

“I’d never been on a date – until tonight” said Sherlock between sips.

“You’re joking right?” said Molly stunned a little by his admission.

“No” he added innocently “dating – not really my area”.

Molly smiled warmly at him. He looked almost childlike in the dim light of the flat.

“…so for the sake of continued scientific enquiry. What happens now?” he said in his normal authoritative voice.

“Well it depends”

“On what” he added.

“On many variables” joked Molly.

“Ah, now variables are my area” he replied.

Molly giggled. “Well I guess the 1st variable would be if you even like the person”

“Check” Sherlock said quickly causing Molly to laugh again.

“Two – did you have a good time?”

“hmmm…check” he added with a tiny smile pulling at his lips.

“Three – would you want to repeat the experiment with said person?”

“Yes, probably” he said with a nod.

“Four – do you want this to be a ‘single hypothesis’ experiment or do you see this as a ‘long-term’ experiment?”

“Elaborate” replied Sherlock.

“Well…” said Molly between sips “sometimes when you really like a person and you had a great time you’d like to go home with them”

“To have sex” interjected Sherlock matter-of-factly.

Molly nearly chocked “Well yeah, but a one night stand isn’t always the best way to start a relationship…usually” she added “So you’d maybe go on a few more dates until you…” Molly trailed off but raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“But if both parties consent and obviously want to have sex after the 1st date. Why don’t they?” Sherlock added, his brow creased, he looked genuinely perplexed.

Molly brought her hand up to her eyes, rubbing them with the pads of her fingers; God she was embarrassed.

“I don’t know…” she sighed “social norms I guess”.

“Hmm” he added, steepling his fingers under his chin.

Molly could feel a blush start. Thank God the flat was semi-dark. They’d only put a lamp on when they came in.

“How did you envision your date with David ending?” he said looking back at her.

“Emmm…I hadn’t thought that far ahead…I don’t…didn’t…even think about a relationship” she stuttered.

“So a ‘long term relationship’ would have become your null hypothesis, ergo the ‘social norm’ variable would be rendered insignificant allowing guilt free sex to become the hypothesis” said Sherlock with glee – as if he’d just solved a case!

Molly stared back dumbfounded “I..I…guess so” she mumbled. She looked down at the empty mug in her hands. “It has been a while!” she smiled to herself. “Does that make me slut?” she added not daring to look up.

“No!” replied Sherlock so forcefully Molly jumped. For the briefest of seconds they held eye contact them Molly looked back down into her lap.

“Well the whole thing is moot anyway…” she said quietly “this was not a ‘real date’ so it can’t end like a ‘real date’”.

“Who says it can’t?” answered Sherlock, his voice low and deep.

 

To be continued....


	4. John's Chair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's gonna be upset when he finds out what's been happening in his chair...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I don't own Sherlock, Molly or John's chair...
> 
> Again (not) sorry for ending this chapter where it ends ;)

Sherlock felt like looking around to see where the voice had come from. The words were his and he had thought them increasingly over the last few weeks but normally they would sit in the back of his throat; felt and desperately wanted but never verbalised. Clearly the wine had removed the filter.

Molly peered up through her lashes. Her slightly scrunched expression – the same one she had when she did the times crosswords on a Sunday, he noted – raised his hope that she hadn’t heard him. The silence between them stretched out, only being broken by Sherlock clearing his throat.

“I…emm…” he started to say looking back down to the mug in his hand, but he didn’t get to finish his sentence before he head the squeak of the leather of his chair as Molly rose and covered the two paces to his chair in an instant.

Molly stood in front of Sherlock between his splayed legs. He stared up at her, his eyes looked greener in this light and wide with awe. His chest rising and falling with his increased respiration.

Sherlock’s breath hitched as Molly abruptly bent at the waist. Instead of the kiss he anticipated, she reached to take the cup from his hands, inadvertently brushing her fingers against his inner thigh. He watched her place it gently on the table on his right and she turned back to look down at him.

Lifting her skirt slightly, giving him the briefest glimpse of knee and thigh, she planted 1st one knee, then the other, on the chair, straddling him. She held herself in this position for a moment – belly pressed to chest, breasts at face level – before lowering herself so her weight settled in his lap.

Molly tried not to think about the fact that her naked centre was now pressed against his pristine trousers. Conversely it was all Sherlock could think about; he could feel her warmth radiating through the thin fabric and it was doing nothing to help his resolve.

Now face-to-face, Sherlock could feel her breath on his face coming in quick little puffs. His eyes flicked to her mouth ( _not too small_ he thought).

Molly place her hands on his chest, she could feel the faint beat of his heart under her right palm. She watched his lips form the word “Moll..” but swallowed the end of it with a hard kiss.

Sherlock wavered between surging forward with want and slowing down with uncertainty. He wanted to know if this was what she really wanted, so he started to whisper her name. His answer came in the form of a searing kiss. Although, initially inelegant in its desperate need – clashing of teeth and clumsy brushing of noses – it quickly settled into graceful passion.

Sherlock hadn’t realised that he’d moved his hands from the arms of the chair until he felt her shoulder blades under his fingers. Trancing them downwards they brushed through the softness of her hair, the smoothness of the fabric of her dress, the jaggedness of the teeth of the zip that ran down her slightly arched back. Using his whole palms now he pressed them against the swell of her arse. At this, he heard her groan into his mouth and grind herself against him.

Molly was too engrossed in the things his tongue was doing to notice his hands until she felt a hard squeeze of her backside. She involuntarily groaned and surged forward. She was momentarily embarrassed by how wet she felt, but the increasingly firm bulge in his lap, told her that she wasn’t unwanted.  

As Sherlock kneaded her arse, Molly took the opportunity to move her hands up to his neck. She let her fingers stroke the nape of his neck; twisting the curls there around her digits. Letting her hands roam further, she threaded her fingers through his hair. It was as soft and thick as she’d imagined. She absentmindedly let her nails scrap his scalp.

“Fuck” breathed Sherlock, breaking the kiss and tilting his head back at the sensation; she’d found his Achilles heel. Molly giggled at his reaction and pulled on his hair lightly. His eyes opened and he growled – he looked feral. His hands that were now resting on her bare calves, ran back up her legs, but this time under her skirt. His rough hands were in stark contrast to her smooth, soft skin of her outer thighs. Sherlock could have spent hours stroking them – one day he maybe would – but now he wanted more. He gently swept them over the roundness of her bum, giving it a gentle squeeze and allowed his fingers to trace the cleft, stopping only when her girlish giggles turned into a gasped expletive.

Molly mirrored his earlier “fuck” when she felt his fingers probe the edges of her arse.

“P..Please” she pleaded pressing her forehead against his. That was the only incentive Sherlock needed. Grabbing her bum, he surged forward and stood. Molly instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

Molly was panting now and impressed by his sheer strength. Not saying a word, Sherlock covered the distance between John’s chair and his room in a few strides and kicked his door closed with one foot...


	5. The bedroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry i'm such a tease ending the last chapter where i did so... Here be smut - don't like, dont read!
> 
> NB - this is the first smut I've written so be nice. Plus it was written in one sitting and uploaded so apologies for any glaring mistakes.
> 
> Disclaimer - I still don't own Sherlock (or Molly)

The door slammed harder than he anticipated and the sound reverberated throughout the flat. God, he hoped Mrs. Hudson was out - or at least sleeping with the aid of one of her ‘herbal soothers’. If not they were going to be rudely interrupted in a few minutes.

Stepping to the bed, he bent slightly to drop Molly, but instead of untangling herself, she hung on causing Sherlock to over balance and fall on top of her. Molly groaned as Sherlock’s full weight crushed her to the mattress.

“Sorry!...Sorry!” gasped Sherlock as he rolled off her. They lay for a second panting, staring at the ceiling, their legs dangling off the edge of the bed. Molly giggled, and Sherlock joined in a second later. Molly couldn’t remember hearing him laugh, at least not like this. She felt a bloom of affection in her chest. For a brief second Molly feared that the moment between them had passed. That’s when Sherlock pounced.

The wine had not dulled his reflexes, and he flipped over so quick Molly gasped. It was his turn to straddle Molly.

Despite, what Mycroft thought, Sherlock wasn’t a virgin. Although he was in his mid-20s when he had done this last. He was in the middle of his drug phase and what he could remember of the handful of exchanges had been deleted in the intervening years to make room for more pertinent information. He searched his mind now for any information that might aid him. He worried for a second, that the intervening decade of self-imposed celibacy would make tonight a disappointment. The thought didn’t last long though – probably due to the lack of blood to his brain.

Molly looked up at him. With her brown eyes almost black with lust, her wine and kissed stained lips parted slightly and cinnamon hair splayed out behind her over his covers, Sherlock felt a pleasant heaviness, except this time the sensation was situated in his chest, not his loins.

Molly surged forward and captured his mouth. Lowering his weight, gently this time, Sherlock pressed his body to hers.  Tearing his mouth from hers, he dipped to the hollow of her throat causing a gasp that was more erotic than anything he’d seen on John’s laptop.

He continued downwards, pulling at the straps of her dress and bra, letting his mouth follow the path of his eager fingers. Pulling at the other side, revealed the swell of her breasts ( _also not too small_ he thought) and the lacy edge of her bra.

“Sherlock!” Molly gasped as he bit and sucked at the soft skin there. “More!” she groaned and arched her back. Sherlock, got her hint and reached around to undo her zip just enough to allow Molly to wiggle her arms out of the straps and for Sherlock to push the bodice down to her waist. He was too impatient to undo the bra, so he just pulled the cups down.

Molly inhaled at the coolness of the air on her nipples and Sherlock exhaled at the sight laid out before him. He quickly dipped his head to take one in his mouth and then the other. Molly gripped his hair and he tentatively lapped at her, but his confidence soon built and quickly he was sucking almost painfully on her.

Molly’s fingers tangled themselves in his hair. The harder she pulled the harder he sucked. The wet sound he was making was almost obscene and she loved it.

Sherlock could have done this all night but he felt a gentle push downwards on his head. He smiled at Molly’s non-verbal demand; he was more than happy to comply.

Molly felt suddenly naked and cold when Sherlock’s mouth abandoned her breasts. His mouth kissed downwards; she could feel his hot breath on her belly through the fabric of her dress. She let go of his hair and grabbed the sheets instead. She heard a gentle thud, as he fell off the bed onto his knees in front of her supine body. “Fuck” she breathed when she realised what was imminent.

Sherlock had heard her swear before, but it always took him a little by surprise to hear the words from her mouth. He secretly found it extremely sexy, but hearing her say it now, and in this context, caused his already engorged cock to twitch impatiently.

From this position, Sherlock looked along her body – legs slightly splayed, dress rucked up to mid-thigh, her dark dress and bra pushed down around her waist, in stark contrast to her milky skin. Her head is tipped back slightly and he could just see her closed eyes. He picked up her ankle gently and kissed the bony protuberance on the inside. He trailed kisses up her calf. She jumped as he kissed the back of her knee – _she’s ticklish here,_ he notes. He tucks this data away for exploration later.

Although the room is dark (they’d forgotten to shut the curtains when they came in) the room was illuminated enough for him to now see up her dress. Her naked slit, pink and wet, shined in the dim light. His head swam with the sight and smell of her.

Molly was panting now. Although she loved the attention, her body feels like it’s going to explode.

 “Ple...please..Sher…Sherlock” she pleads looking down at him.

Sherlock tears his eyes of her cunt and looks at her. Now directly between her legs, he releases her leg and uses both hands to push the skirt up to her waist, finally revealing all of her for the first time. He glances down momentarily before re-establishing eye contact.

Molly watched as he latched onto her centre while he gazed at her. The sensation is overwhelming causing her to drop her head back to the mattress.

Sherlock can’t remember if he has done this before, but instinct takes over and he allows his tongue to memorise her landscape. He quickly finds the spot that makes her gasp and twitch and he concentrates his efforts here. Her taste is overwhelming; tart and musky and endlessly enjoyable.

Molly wants to close her thighs but his hands – now hooked over her legs – hold them open. She can feel the familiar rush towards climax and she suddenly feels nervous.

“Sherlock…please..I’m..I’m..going to…come” she squeaks, but that just seems to spur him on.

Sherlock felt her come before he heard her; her centre pulsed against his mouth, and he feels a twitch in her left thigh against his hand.

Molly lay boneless on the bed. Sherlock moved back slightly, his head resting on the mattress next to her leg; his hair tickling her as his breathing slowed.

Sherlock wiped his mouth discreetly on the duvet and he rested his head on the bed. He listened to her breathing relax. He was slightly worried to stand up – what little blood he had that wasn’t in his penis was now pooled in his legs. He was brought out of his reverie by Molly shifting up the bed to lie in the more usual position; against the pillows. With her soft smile and her hair dishevelled (God know what his looked like!) she motioned for him to join her.

Sherlock clambered onto the bed and lay facing her. She stroked his hair (yes it definitely was a mess he decided) and face. Molly leaned forward to kiss him. It was gentle at first, but soon the passion they’d felt minutes before returned. Impatient hands pulled at uncooperative clothing, until they were both finally naked.

Sherlock abruptly stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Molly asked worriedly.

“I don’t have..any…” Sherlock trailed off. It took Molly a second to realise what he meant.

“Ohh!” she said. He looked so innocent at that moment her heart ached.

“Wait” she added quickly jumping out of bed. He listened to her bare feet on the floor as he ran into the living room. She returned a second later holding a small silver square.

Sherlock smiled, “you really were looking forward to that date weren’t you!?”

Molly giggled and jumped back onto the bed. Their laughs quietened and Molly asked “Have you done this before?”

“Yes” he answered quietly “but not for a very long time”.

Molly ripped open the packet as Sherlock lay back down. She rolled it onto him gently and smiled reassuringly at him.

“Ok?” she asked.

“Ok” he replied.

Molly straddled his hips and held him for a second before lowering herself. Once completely inside she lent down and gave him a tender kiss.

The only coherent thought he had was how hot and tight she felt and even that disappeared once she started moving.

Gentle at first, Molly shifted her hips but Sherlock’s moans urged her on and it wasn’t long before she had her hands on his headboard and was riding him for all it was worth.

Sherlock clamped his hands on her hips, mainly to stifle the urge to surge upwards. He could tell by Molly’s face (now sweaty) and voice (whispered expletives) that she liked this position, but he instinctively wanted more; to go harder and deeper.

Flipping her over, he re-set their pace. He wanted to fuck her into the mattress.

In this position Molly couldn’t grind her clit against his pubic bone, but what it lacked in gentle stimulation, it more than made up for it in pure animalism.

Sherlock knew he wouldn’t last much longer especially not now that Molly’s whispers and turned into cries and the sound of skin slapping together was almost indecent.

“I…don’t...think..I..can..” he panted in her ear

“It’s ok” she replied digging her nails into his biceps.

And with that his vision whited out. A couple of thrusts later, he dropped his head into the crook of her shoulder. He held his weight off her as best he could but he soon felt his arms shake with effort, so he rolled to the side.

She removed the condom, tied it and wrapped it in a tissue, and returned to his side.

Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, he kissed her damp forehead.

They lay in companionable silence for a few minutes, when Sherlock said “I sure hope David got those e-mails sent ok”.

Molly swatted his chest and tried to contain her laugher.

“What?!” he replied innocently.


End file.
